Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhion pulls me aside at a garden party two days later. Marion, Faith, and Emmett are already waiting. “Have I come last in
a game of Sardines?” I ask.
But none of them crack a smile. “Oh no, this meeting seems grave.”
“Now that we have the knife, we must act.” Rhion is all business. I knew the peace I found with Emmett was as fragile and
fleeting as ice on a pond, but it’s still disappointing to see it shattered.
We’re in the corner of a greenhouse containing thousands of blooming flowers, but through the glass, I see Lydia across the
lawn. She’s got white feathers in her hair and a crystal teacup in her hand. She’s surrounded by courtiers, including Lady
Thalia, who I’ve made a point of avoiding.
“Should we get Lydia?” I ask.
The rest of them share an uncomfortable glance and I can read the subtext in it.
“You think she loves him too much?” I ask.
Rhion sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “I think she loves him, full stop. It complicates things.”
“What will we do?” Marion asks.
“Bram is in England for the next day or two. When he comes back, we’ll confront him. I’ll call him for a meeting in my private
quarters and we will threaten him with the knife and a choice. It is my hope he will choose to abdicate.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Rhion presses his fingers into his temples and exhales. “I’m hopeful we can force him behind bars, just like his mother.”
“And if we can’t?” Emmett asks.
Rhion’s bright blue eyes are grave. “I will do what needs to be done.”
Across the gardens, Lydia smiles and laughs at something.
“Fine,” I say, even as my stomach rolls.
Emmett nods slowly. Lydia may love Bram, but Emmett does too, and the pain he’s feeling is evident. “We’ll do what needs to
be done.”
Thock, thock, thock.
I’m unsurprised by the knock at my door, later that night. For the past two nights, Emmett has snuck away to see me while
everyone else is reveling. We hold each other like shipwrecked sailors lost at sea, and when the morning comes, he leaves
my room with a simple I love you, and I hold his hand until the last possible second as he walks out the door.
I tighten the tie of my cream silk dressing gown and bound from my bed to answer.
Standing at my threshold isn’t Emmett but Bram. I should have known: it wasn’t the right knock.
I jump in shock, and he looks at me through the mop of his light brown hair, his mouth arched in a teasing half smile that reveals his dimple.
I do my best to arrange my face into a surprised grin, but Bram’s expression flickers like he caught a glimpse of my dread.
“Hello, wife.”
“Second wife,” I correct him.
“Details, details.” He arches a brow and leans against the doorframe. “Are you going to let me in?”
I pull the door open wider. “Of course, it’s your castle.”
“You’re not happy to see me?”
“Just surprised.” I keep my voice steady. “I thought you’d be in England until at least tomorrow.”
He shakes his head. “No, my errands took less than an hour. I was merely collecting a few more members of my court who wished
to return home to see the final spectacle.”
He brushes by me, close enough that his intricately beaded doublet snags on the soft fabric of my dressing gown.
He shrugs off his doublet and hangs it on the fireplace fender, then turns to me.
“I’ve missed you,” he says. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“It must be quite diverting, being the king of two kingdoms,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light.
He pushes up the sleeves of his white undershirt. “Still, I miss your company.”
Bram toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, then his brown leather breeches, leaving him in nothing but his underclothes.
At that exact moment, Emmett knocks at the door. It’s always the same—three sharp raps, a pause, and then another. Panic courses through my veins. The last time Bram caught Emmett and me together, it earned Emmett two months in a faerie prison.
Bram looks toward the door.
“Not tonight, Eloree!” I shout. “I’m quite all right on my own. My husband is here, bring a tray for two in the morning!”
I try to keep my breathing steady. I can picture Emmett so clearly outside the door, his face falling. I pray he doesn’t feel
betrayed, that he understands I have no other choice.
For a moment there is silence, and then the sound of heavy feet walking down the hall.
Bram slides into my bed and pats the space next to him. The mattress is much too thick to feel the knife I’ve shoved under
it, but I’m terrified that Bram might be able to sense its magic somehow.
Lydia asked about it today, after the garden party, and I lied and told her I’d deliver it to her tomorrow morning. There’s
a pit in my gut every time I think about it.
“I’m tired,” Bram says.
“Me too.” My voice is too tense. I need to calm down or he’s going to realize something is wrong.
I wasn’t exactly warm to him back in England, but I did a better job of pretending than this.
I shrug off my dressing gown, leaving me in nothing but my nightdress, and slide into bed beside him.
Bram turns off the flickering bedside lantern with a snap of his fingers and blue darkness pours over the room.
I’m terrified he’s going to touch me.
I don’t know why Bram hasn’t pushed the physical aspect of our relationship since our wedding, but I am grateful for it.
Perhaps somewhere, deep down, he retains some level of honor. Maybe he can tell I don’t desire him in that way.
Or maybe he’s getting his physical needs met elsewhere.
He lays a cool hand on the side of my face and my stomach drops.
“You’re special, Ivy. You’ve always been special,” he says softly.
“Did you ever love me?” I ask. Here in the dark, I can’t help myself. “Or was I always a means to an end?”
He’s quiet as he ponders my question.
“I don’t understand what humans mean when you say the word love. To put someone above yourself seems very impractical. Why do you do that?”
“Because it isn’t a choice,” I answer. Emmett’s face flashes through my head.
“Isn’t everything?” Bram asks, his voice genuinely curious.
“Is that how it is for you? You choose your emotions? What you feel for other people?”
He sighs and rolls over, removing his hand from my face.
“I don’t think I’ve felt anything in a very long time.”
His answer chills me to my core. “But you sound so sad.”
“Is that what this hollow sensation is?” he asks. “It’s quite unpleasant. I keep trying to fill it with wine and laughter
and bread, but nothing sates it.”
“Maybe,” I answer honestly.
“What does it feel like?” he asks after a moment.
“What does what feel like?”
An autumn breeze ruffles the trees outside my window. A log in the fireplace pops.
“Love,” Bram says.
“You know that feeling, when you come home after a cold winter’s day.
When you’re cold down to your bones, and your teeth are chattering and your shoes are wet, but you walk in, and there’s a fire roaring.
The heat begins to seep into your fingers, and right before they’re truly warm again, there’s that tingling sensation? ”
He hums in understanding. “Love is the tingle?”
I sigh, frustrated by the lack of words I have in my brain to make him understand. Lydia would know how; she’s always been
the artist of the two of us.
“Love is the knowing, no matter hard everything else is, you’ve got a soft, warm place to land.”
“Then why don’t you fall in love with your landlords?” Bram asks.
I sputter. “Not a literal soft place to land. An emotional one.” I bite my lip. “Let me try once more. You’ve said how fleeting
human lives are. Well, we feel that, too. We know that our time is limited. When you love someone, you choose to be with them,
witness them, even though you know your time together is finite. One person will always be left behind. But you do it anyway,
despite the pain you know is coming. By loving, we offer ourselves up to the pain willingly.”
Faeries must feel some version of the same thing we do—joy, love, pain, heartbreak, anger, longing. The feelings are universal
except maybe loss. I don’t think Bram knows what it is to lose something. I pity him for it. Can you truly feel something
without knowing you’ll one day mourn its loss?
“A sacrifice,” Bram says.
“Yes.” I close my eyes and picture Emmett. We’re in the garden and the sun is shining in golden rays from behind him, illuminating
his broad shoulders and all the planes of his face. His eyes soften when they look at me, and when he reaches out to touch
my waist, it’s as if my whole body sighs against him.
“Love sometimes feels like a frenzy, like you’ll die if you don’t get to touch them or be with them soon, but with the right person, I think it’s different. It’s so simple you can’t imagine doing anything else.”
The mattress groans as Bram turns on his side to face me. The shadows of tree branches dance over his face in the moonlight.
His eyes narrow in accusation. “And you feel that way about me?”
Love is nice, but your hate tastes so much better.
He must know I don’t, which means this is a test that I’m failing. Alarm bells ring in my head. He shouldn’t be here. Why is he here?
My throat tightens.
“May I ask you something?” If my clock has run out, there’s one question that has gnawed at me since the caves. I need to
ask it now, before I no longer have the chance.
“You don’t need to ask permission. I am not a scolding tutor.”
We’re lying on top of the quilt, nearly nose to nose, but not touching. I take the opportunity to stare into the depths of
his gray eyes, looking for something—but find nothing there. No depth, no emotion. It’s like looking at the surface of a frozen pond.
“Why did you have my baby necklace? The one with the pearl I?”
He doesn’t look surprised, but he presses his lips together like he doesn’t quite know how to answer. It gives me a sick thrill
of satisfaction to have thrown Bram off his guard.
“Did Lydia tell you?” he asks.
“Does it matter?”